


Comfort

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 02:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10912164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: Dorian isn't a stranger to nightmares but now he doesn't have to suffer through them alone.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaesarianConquerer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesarianConquerer/gifts).



> Another commission for the lovely [justalittlemeenah](http://justalittlemeenah.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr.

It’s not a new nightmare, not by a longshot. One would think it would lose its sting after a while but Dorian finds quite the opposite is true. Somehow knowing what’s to come is even worse. The dread that settles in his chest as soon as he recognizes the green glow of his surroundings, the sickly smell of rot and decay.

 

The Fade never looked like this.

 

He knows it’s a dream but that doesn’t stop the terror from creeping up on him. He knows he won’t be able to wake up before the end of it.

 

After all, it’s not a new nightmare.

 

Adaar is larger than life here, in everything he does. This is how Dorian remembers him, a steadfast constant in a shifting world. He can’t see his face but he knows he’s there - first by his side and then, just a split second later, up ahead and carving through their enemies.

 

Dorian lifts his staff, heavy as lead, and slams it into the ground, magic crackling all around him. He feels slow, sluggish. Like wading through water, his limbs growing heavier with every step.

 

There are others here, just shadows and shapes he sees from the corner of his eye. A voice calls out and it sounds like Cassandra, or perhaps a version of her. He hears the familiar sound of Varric reloading Bianca, the click of the bolt echoing strangely in this space. There were others, a voice in the back of his mind tells him. Hawke. The Grey Warden. A memory sneaking into his dreams.

 

This isn’t how it happened but he still doesn’t wake up.

 

He wishes Adaar would turn around, just once, so he can see his face. He knows what awaits him around the next corner. He knows where every leaden step is taking him. He can’t stop walking.

 

There’s the graveyard. There’s the Nightmare. There’s Adaar’s body being torn apart.

 

Faintly, Dorian wonders if a man can die from grief alone.

 

 

 

 

He screams as he always screams, first in the Fade and then in his bed, ripped from sleep.

 

He sits upright on the bed, panting and his chest so tight he thinks it might kill him. He’s vaguely aware of the way the sheets cling to his body, drenched in cold sweat.

 

It’s dark. Darker than it should be. And for a second he thinks perhaps he didn’t wake at all. Perhaps he simply slipped into another nightmare - something new and unfamiliar this time.

 

But then his eyes adjust to the darkness, the familiar shapes of the Inquisitor’s quarters. The tall bed posts. Adaar’s desk, papers and books in high piles on top of it. The soft glow of the last embers in the fireplace.

 

And then, he feels a hand on his shoulder - large and warm and so familiar it rips another sob from him.

 

“Dorian,” Adaar says, his voice soft and careful. “It was only a dream.”

 

Dorian turns his head. His chest still feels too tight, his heart racing. Even in the darkness he can make out enough of Adaar’s face, the concerned look on his face. He tries to speak, so say Adaar’s name, but no sound is coming out. Instead, he lets himself be pulled into his arms.

 

Adaar knows of Dorian’s dreams. Not all of them and not all of the details. But he’s woken up to Dorian’s screams more than once. And yet, he has never pushed him to talk about it if he didn't feel like it.

 

There are some things Dorian doesn’t know how to put into words. How could he speak those words out loud? Tell Adaar he’s seen him die again and again?

 

The nightmare still clings to him. He can feel the terror of it like an ice-cold hand at the back of his neck, gripping him tightly. The chill of the night is slowly creeping up on him. It won’t be long before he starts shivering in his sweat-soaked shirt.

 

But for the moment, it’s warm in Adaar’s arms, pressed against his broad chest. He draws calming circles on Dorian’s back but what really calms him down is the sound of his heartbeat.

 

Steady.

 

Alive.

 

“Amatus,” Dorian says, his voice hoarse. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there’s still that little bit of surprise that he allows himself to be this vulnerable with him. That he seeks solace to openly and unashamed in Adaar’s arms.

 

But then again, he never thought it’d be possible to feel this much love and this much fear, all at the same time. To be so aware of someone else’s mortality that it almost tears him apart. How easy it would be to lose him…

 

He shivers now and it has nothing to do with the cold.

 

“Let me get you a fresh shirt,” Adaar says but doesn’t move until Dorian does. He's gentle with him, like he's still coaxing him out of the Fade. And in a way, he is.

 

Adaar helps him strip, his clothes and his nightmare. Dorian makes a joke, or an attempt at one at least, and it earns him a little smile, streaked with worry. He's never been one to get easily distracted - not even when Dorian is the one responsible.

 

He feels better in one of Adaar’s shirts, clean and dry and impossibly big. The hem brushes against his thighs as he climbs back into bed and settles against Adaar’s chest. He presses his ear to it just to hear that heartbeat again. That concrete proof of life he clings to.

 

There have been other times when he needed more than this. To kiss and to touch and to feel him, every inch of him. To convince himself that they were both still here, still alive. To wash away the bitter taste of loss and panic that every nightmare left him with.

 

But tonight, this is enough. Exhaustion of the day still makes his limbs heavy and his thoughts a little hazy.

 

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Adaar asks after a moment, his hand resting on Dorian’s back.

 

“I’m afraid I would slip straight back into it,” Dorian says. “And I think I have stolen enough of your valuable sleep tonight.”

 

Adaar lets out a breath of laughter. “Nothing I didn’t give willingly.”

 

Dorian knows.

 

They are quiet for a moment, only their heartbeats and their breathing and the silence of the night. When Adaar starts to sing, it almost feels natural. Inevitable, after everything.

 

It’s a low hum first, one that Dorian feels more than he hears. Deep vibrations in Adaar’s chest.

 

Then Adaar’s voice fills the silence, soft notes and words in a tongue Dorian doesn’t understand. If it’s Qunlat, it’s nothing like the language he has come to know. All harshness taken from it and replaced by calm and softness.

 

Or perhaps that is just the effect Adaar has on everything. Even on language.

 

It’s a simple tune but Adaar’s voice is rich and steady, carrying it with ease even at this late hour. It’s just for Dorian, just for them in this shared space. People come from the most distant places in Thedas to hear what the Inquisitor has to say. But this is for Dorian alone.

 

There’s no space for darkness or nightmares here. Not while Dorian hears love in every note. Not while he feels affection build in his chest, so sudden and overwhelming he can hardly stand it.

 

All too soon, the song ends. The last note lingers, followed by a deep breath and then a sigh. It takes Dorian a moment to realize it’s his own.

 

“I didn’t know you were a singer, amatus,” Dorian says, his head still resting on Adaar’s chest.

 

“I’m not. But it’s what helped me when I was a child and was too afraid to go to sleep.” He laughs. “I didn’t think I’d remember the words.”

 

Dorian looks up. Even in the dark, he can make out Adaar’s features. His broad forehead, his kind eyes. His smile. It always comes back to his smile.

 

He leans up and kisses him, softly.

 

There’s no space for fear when he’s in his arms.

 

“Will you sing it again for me?” he asks, cupping the side of Adaar’s face with one hand.

 

Adaar leans into his touch. “Of course. Will it help?”

 

“I don’t know.” He truly doesn’t. Perhaps he won’t be able to escape his nightmare tonight. Perhaps it will come back to haunt him as soon as he closes his eyes. But he thinks he can bear it, with Adaar by his side. "But I would like to hear it anyway."

 

He kisses him once more before settling against his chest once more, enjoying the feeling of Adaar’s arms around him.

 

A moment later, Adaar starts to sing again. The song already feels familiar, like something from his own childhood. Something happier and warmer than he ever was allowed.

 

Slowly, bit by bit with every note, he slips back into sleep. No nightmares this time. Only Adaar’s voice to guide him.

**Author's Note:**

> About fic requests inquire [here.](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/ask)  
> You can also find me on Tumblr, if you want: [damnable-rogue](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
